


Toast

by neveralarch



Series: Best_enemies comment fic [15]
Category: Doctor Who: Scream of the Shalka
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: best_enemies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 02:52:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic about breakfast.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toast

The Doctor stumbled through the kitchen in his dressing gown, hung-over and hungry. This was a poor combination, and his head was far too muddled to think of something which he could eat and keep down. Wood? Did people eat wood? It was everywhere, surely there must be some nutritional value.

"I see you're up at last," said the Master, glancing up from whatever he was doing on the counter. "I think I may have to call a moratorium on post-rescue celebrations for the time being."

"It was a whole solar system," mumbled the Doctor. He wiped at his eyes with one hand, trying to clear his vision enough to see what had the Master so occupied. "A whole solar system with the best brandy in this entire era. What are you doing?"

"Creating a gastronomic substance which will provide sustenance for myself and Miss Cheney." The Master turned back to the counter, and the toaster popped.

"You're not," said the Doctor, a little more strongly. "You're making toast."

"As I said," said the Master. He serenely spread jam onto the steaming pieces of toast. The knife glinted, making the Doctor instinctively worried for a moment before he realized the instrument was blunt. Well, you wouldn't use cleavers for jam, though he wouldn't put it past the Master to disregard that particular social norm.

"Give me some." Toast, that was what he needed. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

"No." The Master put the stack of toast onto a tray which also contained a pot of tea and a pair of cups. That was just adding insult to injury.

"Master," said the Doctor, wheedling and hating himself for it, "won't you be unhappy if I starve to death because you wouldn't share your toast? Wouldn't you be displeased to find yourself alone and unable to leave the TARDIS?"

"I'm sure Miss Cheney and I would work things out," said the Master, walking out of the kitchen. "I could pilot, she could go and get into trouble. I'm sure neither of us would really notice you were gone."

"Oh, you'd notice." The Doctor followed the Master, nearly treading on his heels as he attempted to just snatch a piece of the contentious toast. "I'd haunt you from the depths of the Eye of Harmony. I'd insinuate myself into your circuits and torment you until you gave me all the toast I liked."

"My, Doctor," said the Master, with an exaggerated shiver. "You do say the naughtiest things."

The Doctor rolled his eyes and made a last desperate grab for the tray. The Master slapped his hand away lightly, except he was made of metal and it really did hurt.

"What's the magic word?" The Master opened a door, revealing a breakfast nook the Doctor had thought lost decades ago.

"I know many magic words," said the Doctor, rubbing his hand. "What about IO! IO!"

"No," said the Master, though the corners of his eyes crinkled. He sat down on the only unoccupied chair, the other two being taken up by Alison and Alison's feet. "Here is your toast, my dear. Ignore the Doctor."

"Alison." The Doctor looked at her with hope. "Alison, make the Master share."

"You're wearing a robe." Alison wrinkled her nose. "Go get properly dressed and I'll see what I can do."

"Properly dressed before breakfast," grumbled the Doctor. "Wrong magic words. No more post-adventure drinking. This is ridiculous - you're both living in my TARDIS, you know."

The Master poured tea. Alison licked the jam off her toast, which was really doing it wrong. The Doctor glowered.

"You could make your own breakfast," suggested Alison, at last.

"Oh, I will," said the Doctor, turning on his heel. The cause was obviously lost. "And it will be an excellent breakfast. Kippers, sausage, an omelet, pancakes. You'll be sorry that you filled up on mere toast then."

Alison and the Master watched the Doctor leave. Then they drank their tea. Then the Master fiddled with his cup for a little while. Finally, he pushed back his chair and made a show of consideration.

"He'll probably burn down the best kitchen." The Master looked put-upon. "I'd better go check to see how he's getting on."

"You do that," said Alison, not bothering to look up from the magazine she'd borrowed from the library.

"I wouldn't normally, but I do like that kitchen," continued the Master.

"It's a very nice kitchen," said Alison. She turned a page, and took a bite of her now jamless toast.

"Even if he manages to keep it intact, he probably won't clean up after himself adequately. We don't want a recurrence of the sentience problem in the dish drain."

"Quite right." Alison turned another page.

"I'll return shortly."

The door closed, and Alison continued reading as she pulled the breakfast tray to herself.

It really was excellent toast.


End file.
